


Strangler Fig

by Maddalia



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-06
Updated: 2012-01-06
Packaged: 2017-10-29 01:11:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/314200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maddalia/pseuds/Maddalia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hiding out after an op gone wrong, Doyle realises that a few words can be life-changing - but for better or worse?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strangler Fig

What a colossal fuck-up.

It was supposed to be a simple exchange of prisoners. But the East Germans hadn’t held up their end of the deal. The handover turned out to be an ambush, and neither Doyle nor Bodie had been prepared for it. One firefight, an ammo shortage and two stoppages later, George Cowley’s finest were running for their lives, having lingered only long enough to call for backup over a scarily dodgy frequency. The sun was coming down in shafts through the thick canopy, lighting a path of retreat. The heady scent of pine needles assaulted every gasping breath of the fleeing agents.

Doyle was a little way behind Bodie, trusting, following without question for the moment. Soon Bodie would tire, which at his level of fitness merely meant slowing down a little. Doyle, with his lighter frame and greater stamina, would take the lead, Bodie trusting and following in turn, until it was safe to walk side-by-side again. Doyle’s feet pounded the forest floor, his heart pumped hard in his chest, adrenaline rushed through his veins, and the roar of blood in his ears became a strange kind of choir, singing in high, dissonant voices: Alive! Alive! Alive!

In the midst of that high, it occurred to Doyle how breathtaking Bodie looked: long and sleek and graceful. Sometimes he could look awkward, like when he got in and out of small cars, or jumped down from a height, or, worst of all, when he danced. But when he ran, it was like he became another being. He had the aura of a predator, even when they were being pursued, as now. And Doyle found himself wanting to hunt the hunter. He didn’t like to think about what that meant. No matter where it led, there was danger waiting for him at the end of it. But it was a danger Doyle had been heading for since he’d first clapped eyes on the man: a building of awareness over minutes, hours, weeks, months — a cauldron full of unknowable magic, slowly coming to the boil.

That was why they weren’t going to die today, Doyle realised. How could they? They had to live to see this through, whatever it was. It was that simple. You couldn’t pit two iron wills like theirs against the world, and expect the world to come away unscathed. So he wasn’t relieved, only smugly triumphant, when his instincts stopped screaming, the feeling of urgency ebbed away, and he realised the danger was past, temporarily at least. At the same instant, Bodie slowed, not from any lack of stamina, but from the same awareness. They halted, side-by-side, next to an ancient-looking beech tree with roots that snaked out and dominated the ground.

‘I think we’ve lost ‘em,’ gasped Doyle, as Bodie, equally breathless, leaned back against the tree for support.

‘Yeah.’ Bodie nodded to reinforce the affirmative. A bead of sweat dislodged itself from his hair, dripping down his nose, and suddenly he was a man again: perfectly imperfect. ‘Trouble is, I think we’ve lost us, too.’

‘Cowley’ll find us,’ Doyle said dismissively. His eyes were on Bodie’s arched neck. But even his unfulfilled desire for his partner couldn’t keep his mind off what was really troubling him.

‘I can’t believe we had to run. We must be losing our touch.’

‘Ah, ’s just how it is sometimes, Doyle,’ said Bodie. ‘We were massively outnumbered and out of ammo. Your gun wasn’t firing properly even when it had bullets!’

‘Oh, so it’s my fault, is it?’ Doyle snapped, without really thinking about it.

‘It isn’t anyone’s fault,’ Bodie scoffed. ‘If anything it’s Alf’s, for trying to fix the bloody thing instead of giving you a new one. For fuck’s sake, it’d cost a lot more to train a new agent than it would to give you a new gun.’

‘He said it was my fault for dropping it,’ Doyle muttered.

‘Look, are you actually feeling guilty, or are you trying to get me to agree with you so you’ve got someone to yell at?’

Doyle recognised the tone of Bodie’s slightly raised voice. It said ‘don’t push me.’ But Bodie had pushed _him._ Accordingly, Doyle pushed back.

‘That’d be a fine attempt at perspicacity, mate, if you weren’t wrong.’

To his surprise, Bodie laughed.

‘Perspicacity, mate,’ he said, in a fake Cockney accent. When Doyle looked blank, he prompted: ‘Spike Milligan. Sorry, you just reminded me. Look, Ray, it wasn’t your fault, we both know it, so drop it, OK?’

‘Fine, but I still can’t believe we had to run.’

‘For f-- oh, what’s the use? Come on, we need to keep moving.’

‘Since when did you give the orders in this partnership, Bodie?’ Doyle spat. He’d had just about enough of being pushed around for one day.

‘Since the other half of the partnership stopped being able to make decisions!’ Bodie shot back. ‘I looked to you for an answer back there. You had nothing to give me. I called for backup; you looked relieved. I ran; you followed.’

‘What else was I s’posed to do, stay there and die?’

‘Don’t be so fucking stupid.’

‘Don’t talk to me like that! Who the hell do you think you are, Bodie?’

‘The only man who _can_ talk to you like that,’ Bodie replied. His anger was gone, replaced by smugness, but before Doyle could get too outraged, he went on: ‘And you’re the only man who can talk to _me_ like that. Dunno about you, but I call that bloody marvellous.’

He grinned, and Doyle found himself mellowing, just a little. He mellowed because he agreed, and he let Bodie see it in his face. He loved the freedom that their relationship gave them: to talk a lot, or not at all, to laugh unreservedly if they found something funny, not to laugh if they didn’t. Perhaps most importantly, to yell and scream and snipe and pick and pout and sulk, and to cheer each other up when the occasion called for it.

Doyle wanted and needed his partner in equal measure. Bodie was — well — necessary. Like ...

Like ...

One simile away from bloody poetic! Doyle had caught himself just in time. In the lengthening silence, the sounds of the wood seemed to become louder, even drowning out his footsteps as he paced the small stretch of ground in front of the tree, and Bodie. The shadows became creepy and unnatural, the canopy oppressive.

‘Doyle.’

He only dimly registered Bodie’s voice.

‘Ray?’

‘What?’ Doyle looked up from his study of the ground.

‘Save your energy for the second half, mate.’

Bodie’s voice was gentle, as was the expression on his face. He could have melted tarmac with that look. Worse, Doyle was highly tempted to say so. He pressed his lips together, shut his eyes, and sighed. But he did stop pacing. He heard Bodie move, then to his surprise, felt Bodie’s hand between his shoulder blades: also gentle. Doyle opened his eyes as he realised his partner was trying to usher him over to the tree — except he was being reflexively stubborn, refusing to be led even before he’d registered what was happening.

‘C’mon, Ray. Sit down for a sec. Come on.’

‘Stop pushing me around, Bodie, for God’s sake. I’ll sit down when I bloody well want to, and not before.’

Bodie let him go, glaring. ‘Fucking hell, Doyle. I accepted long ago you were a stubborn little cuss, but ...’ He hesitated.

‘But what?’ Doyle challenged through gritted teeth, eyes narrowed dangerously, silently daring Bodie, only slightly the taller, to call him ‘little’ just one more time.

‘But petulance, mate, does not become you,’ Bodie finished. His nostrils were flared: a bad sign.

‘Oh, you’re asking for it.’

‘What, Doyle? You gonna hit me? Would that make all this go away? Can’t hit those who are hitting out at you, so instead you take it out on someone who won’t?’ Bodie huffed, a short, sharp release of breath, and turned away.

‘What d’you mean, won’t?’ Doyle wasn’t sure how to react to that, so he settled for curiosity.

‘What I _mean_ is, I won’t hit my partner,’ Bodie said impatiently, still with his back to Doyle. ‘Partnership’s about respect. Violence is’ — he paused, as if considering — ‘just violence.’ He turned around to give Doyle another piercing glare. ‘At least, that’s the way it is for me.’

The bastard. Bodie was trying to guilt him, now!

And, bloody hell, it was working. That, and a terrible awareness that whether his behaviour was justified or not, now was absolutely not the time. What was it Cowley had said, way back at the beginning? ‘Argue about it before or after the operation. Preferably after.’ He should apologise ... he should definitely apologise. And get them both the fuck out of there.

Shame the words stuck in his throat. Doyle felt a tingling sensation in his mouth and ears, and his head began to ache. Stress.

‘I’m risking our lives,’ he said bitterly. ‘Let’s go, quick, for God’s sake.’

He started to stride away, trusting despite their spat that Bodie would follow him. After a few seconds, he heard the trotting footsteps as Bodie caught up. No words. Doyle had expected that. What he didn’t expect was the arm slung across his shoulders. Maybe if there wasn’t the distinct possibility that they might be about to die, Doyle would have kept up his stubbornness and shaken Bodie off. As it was, he returned the half-embrace, leaning thankfully closer as they walked.

‘I really think we’re safe now,’ said Bodie, after a few minutes. He stopped walking, and they let go of each other. 'Let’s rest a bit.’

‘We should be trying to make it to a road,’ Doyle argued, his sense of duty acute after the earlier angry lapse. ‘Find a phone, call it in.’

‘I want to talk first.’

Oh God. Now was the time to apologise, quick, before Bodie really started laying into him.

‘Look, Bodie, I’m sorry ...’

‘No, it’s not that. Will you please sit down this time?’

He tugged gently at Doyle’s sleeve. They sat down together, leaning this time against the wide trunk of an oak, avoiding the narrower pines that surrounded the older, deciduous trees.

‘Ray, I’ve got something to tell you, and it’s not easy.’

Doyle was surprised. Bodie very rarely confided in him about anything. It was one of the things that annoyed him most about his partner, the reticence. When he saw Bodie troubled he wanted to take action, help, comfort. Perhaps, for once, Bodie was going to allow it — even seek it out.

‘Whatever it is, Bodie, just tell me,’ he said, making his voice as gentle and kind as he could. ’It’ll be OK.’

‘That’s just it. It might _not_ be OK. You might never want to see me again.’

 _‘Bodie.’_ Doyle laughed out his partner’s name. ‘The things I know about you, and you’re worried one more might see me off?’

‘This might,’ Bodie persisted. ‘And it’d be OK, mate. I’d understand.’

Doyle frowned. Bodie looked deadly serious, and so miserable, slumped forward dejectedly as he was, broad shoulders hunched, face oddly grey in the yellow-green light of the woods, thickly-lashed eyes wide and dark with stress. He opened his mouth to say something reassuring, but Bodie got there first.

‘Worst thing is, I should have told you ages ago. Probably when we were first partnered. I owed it to you. The things we have to face, we ought to know everything about each other. In case anything comes up.’

‘Aw, come on. Our pasts have come back to bite us before, we’ve just told each other what was necessary at the time. Don’t beat yourself up about it.’

‘OK, but this is important, Ray. Shit, there’s no point trying to put it delicately. I’m bi.’

‘Holy f-- _what?_ ’

‘You heard me.’

‘Well, I think I did. Bi as in bisexual.’

Bodie nodded, jaw clenched.

‘Oh, God, is _that_ all?’

‘All?’ Bodie looked outraged.

‘Well, come on, Bodie, this is England, now. It is legal, you know. As a matter of fact ...’

‘Not exactly looked kindly upon in CI5, though, is it?’

‘I don’t know. It’s not in the small print. Bloody miracle, that, since everything else is.’

‘CI5’s part of the public services,’ argued Bodie. ’It doesn’t need to be in the small print. I’ve not been with a man in years, you know. Only once or twice when I was in the army, and never in CI5. Too much of a security risk.’

‘So why the need to tell me now?’

‘Because I ...’ Bodie almost shouted, and trailed off, staring desperately at Doyle. ‘Fuck, and I was worried you might have seen it.’

‘Seen what for God’s sake?’

Bodie rolled his eyes. Doyle felt a strange kind of twisting in his insides. He suddenly knew what novelists meant when they talked about someone’s stomach plummeting to their toes.

‘You mean you want me?’ he asked faintly. He almost didn’t want to believe it was true — just in case he’d misunderstood, or if Bodie changed his mind, or in case this turned out to be a particularly vivid dream and any minute now he’d wake up frustrated and miserable. But Bodie was nodding. And it _felt_ real. There was a tangible energy between them that, clearly, neither man was willing to ignore any longer.

Doyle opened his mouth to explain things rationally. He wanted to pour it all out to Bodie, how in his youth he’d thought he was gay, that he’d sworn off men when he joined the Met because getting his life on track had meant more to him than sex, that he’d then discovered women and not looked back since, save the occasional pang, the odd jolt of attraction when he passed a nice-looking bloke on the street. Then he’d joined CI5, and promptly fallen in — fallen for — discovered he fancied his partner rotten, yes, those were the best words, no sense frightening Bodie off by getting all deep and meaningful straightaway.

None of it mattered anyway, in the end, because the only words that came out of his mouth were a breathy ‘Oh Jesus, Bodie ...’ and then he was leaning across to kiss him.

‘You mean you want me?’ Bodie mimicked with a grin, when Doyle finally let him go. When Doyle laughed, Bodie looked delighted; his eyes sparkled with mischief and affection, and he pulled Doyle into his arms. They rolled sideways, awkward and ungainly in such a joyous moment, and then they were on the ground, and twigs and tree roots were digging into Doyle’s side, but none of that mattered because Bodie was behind him, holding him, kissing his neck, and one of his hands was straying down ...

 _‘Bodie!_ ’ he admonished. ‘For fuck’s sake, people are looking for us! I don’t care whether it’s our lot or the enemy that find us first; we can’t let anyone catch us like this!’

He struggled free and got to his feet, reaching down a hand to help Bodie up. Strange how his body betrayed him into hypocrisy. A second later he had Bodie against the trunk of the oak tree. Bodie was laughing at the irony. Doyle wrapped him in his arms and kissed him hard, pressing their bodies close.

‘Mmm. Ray,’ Bodie murmured, burying his face in the hollow of Doyle’s throat.

‘Yeah, it’s me,’ Doyle replied, squeezing him tight. ‘And I’m never going to let you go.’ He clung on, relieved beyond words, not just that Bodie wanted him, but that finally the day was _his_ again. He felt that his life was his own once more — but paradoxically, it was Bodie’s too, and he didn’t mind that. Bodie, after all, was his in turn.

‘You’re mine, Bodie.’ He couldn’t resist saying it, and once those words were out, others came tumbling recklessly after them. ‘You’re part of me. I may have to let you go literally, but in my head I never will, d’you hear me? I’ll hold you forever, we’ll be like the trees, you know, the ones in the Amazon rainforest, one wrapped around the other, dependent ...’

... on each other, Doyle had been going to say. But Bodie had stiffened, and not in the good way. Doyle’s heart sank as he realised how possessive he must have sounded, not five minutes since their first kiss. How could he have been so stupid?

'Strangler fig,’ Bodie said flatly.

‘Exactly,’ Doyle answered, straining to keep up his earlier enthusiasm, not wanting Bodie to know he was worried. He wanted to go on, to qualify the point, make it sound less like staking his claim and more like the vision of mutual needing and belonging that he’d been going for, but Bodie interrupted him.

‘Yeah. The tree on the outside clings and grows and feeds on the one in the middle, which withers and eventually dies. Great image, Doyle.’ He wrenched himself free of the embrace and put distance between them, staring at Doyle with frank hostility.

Doyle felt trapped in his gaze, hurt and guilty, but mostly bewildered and ridiculous. Christ, he hadn’t meant _that!_ His words had been clumsy, and a little over-romantic, but they’d all come out so fast that he hadn’t had a chance to think it through. He’d had the idea that the trees were dependent on each other, not that one killed the other. Trust bloody Bodie to know more about the rainforest than he did ...

‘This was a bad idea,’ Bodie muttered at length, and walked away.

‘Bodie! Hey!’ Doyle called after him. He had to run to catch up; Bodie was striding at speed. ‘I didn’t mean ...’

Then his R/T crackled.

‘Alpha 1 to 4.5.’

‘Bodie! Cowley. They must be close.’

Bodie spun around. All the anger and awkwardness was gone. His face was a mask of professionalism, his manner brusque and businesslike as they both spoke to their boss, arranging a rendezvous. Doyle realised it was his work partner, nothing more, that had turned back to him. The rest was hidden, perhaps forever, because he, Ray Doyle, hadn’t been able to keep his mouth shut, because he’d gone too far too fast. He’d been so desperate to wrench back control after the disaster that had brought them to this point, that he’d had to try and own the moment, instead of sharing it with Bodie.

Doyle knew he’d let his ego ruin a few things in his life, but never anything he’d really cared about. He’d never ruined anything like this.

What a colossal fuck-up. That was the second time today those words were true.


End file.
